August 16, 1997

It's something that's easily deducible from the everyday, but it's very depressing to actually have corraborating evidence. But, today, when I came into work and there was no one here, I got more done in the first hour at my desk than I got done in the last week. Coding, that is. This really sucks. I even managed to upend my stupid chair and pull the arm rests, which have been nudging my elbows for umpteen years, and get them the hell off my chair. My shoulders feel... just astonishing. It's allowing me to relax muscles that have been bunched for just about forever. We'll see what it does for my hands or wrists.

Devoured a book last night. One that Trip recommended for me. Larque on the Wing by Nancy Springer. The book touched on a lot of things I've been wrestling with, especially with Markleford. "Who loves ya, babe?" and having it finally turn out that the only one that knew Larque well enough, could understand her enough to love her as she needed to be loved was... well... herself. It's a lesson I've been slammed into by Mark and others, and kinda goes with the whole Biblical, "Love others as you love yourself." Pre-req is 'love yourself.' There were a number of other things that the book touched on, like the fact that an internal facet of me is, indeed, very male; another very much the demanding, crying, dancing, joyous, needing hungry child.

Trip said that Larque reminded him of me, and I can see why. All those personalities in there, and they all really are, not really integrated, split apart and whole and of themselves, all cohabitating a body that isn't really them, but does contain them all. All not so much fighting with each other but existing and having to love each other and figure each other out and even when we disagree, we have to work it out because we really can't do without each other. Can't get away.

Long time ago, timewise, I used to write Flynn in all my different voices, using margin marks to mark voices. I could probably do that pretty easily, now, with font colors for each of the voices. The wonders of technology. I'll likely save it for when I'm under big pressure and split again. Then you can actually see the multiple faces and voices of Liralen Li.

Heh. I bet one of the reasons my wrists hurt less when I play soccer is simply because Argent just can't imagine himself lamed in any way.

Argent's the atheletic stud-muffin of the lot, a background matrix for David, which became a part of Jaer, which is what Raine inherited. Raine is kinda like Liralen, but without the Lois Lane complex, i.e. falling in love with every superman and poking her nose in everyone else's trouble. Raine is also far more independent of other people's needs than Jaer was, who was shapped after a character by Sherri S. Tepper, who simply became what people wanted the most. Who was it? Right. Jilara described Argent as being like the silvermetal T2, relentless, smart, agressive, tough, and a cool, clean, clear instructor. She made him silver and blue, shaped to everyone's desire and need for a martial arts instructor. She first gave him to Liralen on alt.callahans as a package wrapped and ribboned in blue and silver mylar.

I've fenced for nearly a decade, done TKD, a smattering of akido, several years of tai chi and I often consider soccer a martial art. So it's no wonder she sees that part of me as being like that.

Just as the Engineer part of me can get sucked into a project for eight hours at a time without even caring to look up, much less think about mundane things like drinking or eating or if it's sunny out. I haven't let the Engineer out for a while, and he's really enjoying this time utterly alone at the office. He lets me write when the thing is compiling, though, so that's good.

Engineer swears at everything, though. A constant blue streak. Especially when the program's not working the way he wants it to. Yeesh. Talking about myself again in the third person. Better stop that. The audience is listening.

But it sure is fun to just sit and write code and compile and test and then do it again and again and again. Had breakfast with Mike Wasson, who is a very keen person who writes board games, edits car and race track magazines, and is Web and Internet literate and an all around very keen guy. He's head over heels in love with a lady that's half the world away, and is going to get to see her next week and it's very neat to be able to see someone in love like that.

We went to the Yankee Diner and were served more food than we could think to eat, and I had corned beef hash with two poached eggs and hash browns and two buttermilk pancakes with real maple syrup and orange juice and coffee, and desperately wanted nothing more than a nap when I was through, but the food really is helping me concentrate, now.

We talked about everything. My work situation, his work situation, how odd it felt to be hunted by the Borg.

Maya and I were talking the other day and she asked me why I felt the same about Clarion West as I did about Microsoft and I noted the whole push mechanism. That it was a way of giving myself direction and momentum. Then she asked me if writing was as important to me as it seemed to be. She's read a lot of my stuff and thought that writing was very important to me, and that if it were important, why did I think I'd be happy giving it up to do high pressure work for the Borg?

It kinda came down to, would folks rather see a book by me or yet another software application from Microsoft?

Mike was pretty clear as to what his preferences were.

As was Maya. As was John. As were a number of other people.

But that dumps me in the same problem I have now. I don't know what to write, anymore than I know what to do where I am. I can do anything. But if you can do anything, what is it that shows you, gives you a clue at to what are you going to do, today?

Lost in a sea of possibilities.

© 1997 by Liralen Li

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